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About Jerusalem

But then—fuck—some dumbass scientist pissed me off. Said sexual-massage ain’t real in fish. Bullshit! I yelled, “You blind, cabrón?” Seen it with my own eyes—catfish grindin’ up close, massagin’ fins like pros. Tony don’t lie, man! Another freaky bit—electric eels, they zap while they rub. Zap-zap, sexy time! Bet that’s a shock to the system—hah, get it? Fuckin’ hilarious. Reminds me of Holy Motors—“The beauty of the act!”—that’s what sexual-massage is, pure chaos, pure beauty.

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So, I hit the streets around 8 AM. The sun was blazing, like, “Hey, I’m here!” I strolled down Al-Mahatta Street, you know, the one with all the cafes. Smelled like fresh za’atar and coffee. My fave combo! I grabbed a manakish from that little spot, Al-Balad. Best in town, no cap.

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